


Tomorrow's Calling

by i_kinda_like_writing



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 11:05:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4664223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_kinda_like_writing/pseuds/i_kinda_like_writing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Trouble sleeping?”<br/>“I’ve slept for seventy years, sir,” Punch “I think I’ve had my fill.” Punch.<br/>“Then you should be out, celebrating. Seeing the world.”</p>
<p>But how can he see the world without Bucky by his side?</p>
<p>Bucky always said they'd go places together. These are the places they'd go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow's Calling

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Five for Fighting's "World". I wrote this because I rewatched Avengers and that part where Fury tells Steve he should be celebrating and seeing the world hit me. After Fury says it, Steve pauses for a minute with this look on his face and I could only think that he and Bucky were supposed to do it together.  
> So here. Hope you enjoy it, it's my first Cap fic on AO3.

_“Trouble sleeping?”_

_“I’ve slept for seventy years, sir,” **Punch** “I think I’ve had my fill.” **Punch**. _

_“Then you should be out, celebrating. Seeing the world.”_

 

*~*~*

 

It’s dark out so it must be really late. It only gets dark really late in the summer time. Not that Steve’s been out much lately. It’s one of the rare times when he’s sick during the summer and can’t pant heavily as he and Bucky play games in the street. His mom is at work, but before she left she asked Ms. Terry from the 3rd floor if she could check in on Steve from time to time, so he’s not completely alone.

It’s not even a bad sickness, only a slight cough and a bit of a fever. But Steve’s mom insisted on bed rest, so now he’s stuck here, bored out of his mind. He finished the comic book Bucky lent him about four hours ago, has counted every crack in his bedroom ceiling twice, and is now entertaining himself with the thread coming out of his blanket.

Lucky for Steve, his bedroom window is shoved open that very second, Bucky Barnes tumbling in after it. He grins, wide and goofy over at Steve, his usual charm disappearing in a second. On his knees, dirt is scrubbed in so deep that it messes with Bucky’s tan lines, but his clothes are pristine because Bucky’s ma would whoop his bottom hard if he came home with a speck of mud on any of his shorts.

“Hiya Steve,” Bucky says as if he didn’t just fall into Steve’s room unannounced. “Howsit goin’?”

“Fine until your ugly mug got here.” Steve grins back. He hasn’t seen Bucky in two whole days and he’s missed his best friend.

“Punk,” Bucky mutters, his voice dark but grin still on his face. There’s a gap in his smile where his first tooth fell out and Steve can remember how excited Bucky was when he ran up to Steve and showed him the spot it used to be in. Then he split his tooth fairy money with Steve and they bought a sundae down at the ice cream parlor with the spinning counter stools and ate until their heads felt numb.

“Jerk,” Steve says his part, eyes curious as they catch on the paper clutched in Bucky’s hands. Before he can ask, Bucky’s gesturing for him to scoot over and shoving himself up next to Steve. With Bucky on top of the blankets and Steve under two (anymore and he’d die of heat stroke). Bucky pulled out a postcard that says _Hi from Buffalo!_ on it in big red letters.

“My aunt Jess is out west visiting the Niagara waterfall and the Great Lakes. She sent a postcard to us.” Bucky hands it over and Steve takes it reverently. Neither of them has been out of the city before and to hold a piece of something from all the way in Buffalo seems sacred.

“What’s it like?” Steve asks, taking his eyes off the card for a second to look back at Bucky. He finds that Bucky was watching him first, that big grin still on his face.

“She wrote about it, on the back.” Steve flips it over, reading the slightly smudged words and only getting stuck on a few, and those Bucky helps him on. He reads pretty well for a 6 year old but missing so much school because of illnesses doesn’t help. Bucky’s at the top of their class.

“Wow,” both kids are silent for a moment, which isn’t an easy feat for 6 year olds. But they hold the quiet for a second longer because it’s so strange to think there are places outside their little six block world and to have a piece of proof at their fingertips feels like they’re unlocking the secrets to an ancient world no one’s ever seen before.

“We’ll go there one day.” Bucky’s voice is still quiet. “Together.” Steve turns to look at him, his best friend, cast in the wavering light of the crappy lamp on Steve’s bedside table.

“Okay.” Steve doesn’t mention how neither of them has money to take the train down to Coney Island, let alone Buffalo. He doesn’t mention how by the time they might have the money, Steve’s not supposed to live that long. He doesn’t mention how worried he is that Bucky will leave him for friends that run at the same speed and don’t get him in fights all the time or actually have other friends too so Bucky won’t have to always spend time with them.

He doesn’t mention any of it and the two of them stay in that bed later then they should, tiny fingers dragging over paper with dreams of Someday dancing vividly in their heads.

 

*~*~*

 

“Come _on_ , Steve.” Bucky would deny it, but there’s a lot more than a little bit of a whine in his voice. Steve rolls his eyes.

“You have absolutely no patience, do you?” He doesn’t look up from his sketchbook. They’re on the edge of Brooklyn, by the water, and Steve can just make out the rough details of the Statue of Liberty. Recently he’s gotten into drawing, after all the days he’s stuck in bed with nothing to do, and at the moment still life is his favorite. Right now he’s trying to get the crown just right, and Bucky has been waiting quietly for a long time now, but Steve really wants to finish it.

“I _have_ been patient. It’s run out.” Bucky’s got his own piece of paper and a pencil spinning in between his fingers. It’s distracting in the there’s-something-in-the-corner-of-my-eye-that’s-moving kind of way, but also in another way Steve doesn’t understand.

“Be patient just a bit longer.” Steve mumbles, pencil scratching against the rough paper. Bucky sighs, his head falling back and elongating his neck. The summer is just coming in and Bucky spends every second outside, so his skin is getting just a little darker than usual. Steve just burns and he’d be jealous, but it’s a very nice color on Bucky.

“You know where we got the Statue from?” Bucky asks. History is his favorite subject, and they just learned about New York’s history this year in school.

“Nah, I forgot.” He’s pretty sure he was sick during the Statue lesson, and he’s vaguely aware it’s from France but beyond that, nothing.

“We got it from France. As a present kinda thing. In 1886.” The pencil stops spinning. “We’re gonna go there one day.”

“Where? France?” Steve snorts.

“Hey, I mean it.” Bucky hits him on the arm. “We’ll go see the Eiffel Tower. Eat the real French fries. See that fancy art museum and you can use up all my patience in there too.” Steve turns to tell him to cut it out, but when he looks at Bucky he’s wearing this really soft kind of smile Steve hardly ever sees on him nowadays. Ten year olds have to keep up a reputation, and going all mushy eyed like that doesn’t help.

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve says, nodding as it feels like the words are scratching at his throat. “We can do that.” Bucky turns to look at him and grins so wide that Steve wishes he had more paper.

 

*~*~*

 

Steve’s trying to make something out of the few ingredients that are in his kitchen. Ma’s still working, took on another shift because all the sicknesses Steve’s had this winter have really put a dent in their savings. He wants to do something for her in return, and even though he’s a crap cook he’s going to try. The front door opens and Steve curses under his breath; his ma’s not supposed to be home yet.

“Steve?” It’s just Bucky.

“In here!” It’s not a very big apartment, so Bucky can find him easily in the kitchen.

“What’re you doin’?” Bucky asks, laughter in his voice as he comes into the room. “You can’t cook for shit.”

“Bucky,” Steve hisses. “Cussing’s a sin.”

“So is kissing Lily Jenkins behind the school before marriage, but I did that anyway too.” Steve rolls his eyes. Bucky’s always kissing girls; apparently he’s very good at it. Lily Jenkins is a whole two years older than them too, 15 years old to Bucky’s 13. Sometimes Steve likes hearing about Bucky’s exploits, but sometimes it makes him ache in his chest and boil in his skin, but he tries to ignore that part.

“I’m making dinner for Ma. She’s working so hard.” Bucky walks over, nudging Steve out of the way.

“If you wanna give her a present, let me cook.” Steve would protest, but he wants his ma to enjoy it. Bucky’s food is much better than his. Steve sits on the counter and sketches Bucky’s back as he moves around the stove. It’s quiet and peaceful and everything Steve could ask for on a Thursday night. “Read about California this mornin’. Sunshine all the time, beaches everywhere. Fresh air.”

“Hmm,” Steve hums, still focused on Bucky’s shoulder blades.

“We could go there for a while. Sight see. It’s real cultured, probably some art for you to over-analyze. Whattya say?” Steve looks up from the curve of Bucky’s shoulder.

“What’re you talking about?” Sometimes Bucky starts daydreaming out loud to Steve, but he hasn’t done it in a while and it’s hardly ever about the two of them. Usually it’s about a girl or a comic book or money.

“Us in California.” A sizzling sound as he pauses. “It’d be better for your health, the air, and we could see more ‘n just Brooklyn.”

“Alright.” Steve says it quietly. It sounds more like a confession than a suggestion to him and he doesn’t know why, but he’d go anywhere with Bucky and that much has always been true.

 

*~*~*

 

“The Grand Canyon.” He’s delirious. Been this way for three straight days now. Fever high as hell and coughing nonstop. It’s worse than it’s been in a long while and both Steve’s ma and Bucky are worried enough to shake.

“What?” Bucky sits at Steve’s bedside, occasionally lifting a washcloth to Steve’s forehead to cool him down but mostly just praying and clutching Steve’s hand.

“We’ll go there,” Steve’s voice is a little slurred. “Gran’ Cany’n. S’hot there, no win’er, no cold. Come with me.”

“Yeah, yeah okay Stevie.” Bucky grips his hand harder. Steve never daydreams, says he doesn’t have the luxury. Either Steve’s inhibitions have lowered that much or he doesn’t think he’s getting out of this one alive. Bucky hopes desperately for the former.

“Tell me ‘bout it.” Steve’s head lulls to the side, his eyes meeting Bucky’s.

“It’s so, so deep. Red hot dirt everywhere.” Bucky’s seen pictures, but he’s never been there before. He’ll have to make up a little bit. “Your voice echoes forever, people down in Mexico will hear ya. After hundreds of years, water carved it out of the earth, consistent and stubborn, just like someone else I know.” Bucky reaches out and ruffles Steve’s hair. Steve’s got enough strength to bat away Bucky’s hand, getting him to grin. “We’ll see it one day, just the two of us.”

“Road trip,” Steve says with a weak smile. “On ‘r way ta California.” Bucky perks up at that.

“You remember?” It had been a half formed plan, something Bucky thought about as a fantasy. The two of them, living together in San Francisco. It’s a pipe dream, something Bucky keeps to himself as a guilty pleasure. At 16, he knows that those weird feelings he gets sometimes aren’t right and he shoves them down whenever Steve grins too wide.

“Course,” Steve’s eyes are closed, but if they were open he’d be rolling them. “Member ever’thing ‘bout you.” Bucky’s throat closes up, feels like his heart is stuck up in it, but when he looks up to ask more, Steve’s snoring softly. Bucky grips his hand and prays, says he’ll give up anything as long as Steve gets out of this alive.

 

*~*~*

 

“It’s too hot!” Bucky groans as he pushes open the door to their shared apartment. Steve’s on the floor, it being cooler than the couch, in shorts and an undershirt, sketching from memory half-heartedly.

“Really? I never would’a known.” Bucky sends him a dark look, tugging off his shirt. There aren’t any funny tan lines, since he usually works with his shirt off and only puts it back on when he’s coming home. It’s impolite to dames to be half-naked all the time, or that’s what Bucky says anyway.

“Canada, Stevie, Canada.” Bucky drops down in front of the wall, leaning back against it. “That’s where we’re going.” Steve raises his eyebrows, surprised. He’s never done Canada before.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“S’cold up there, I heard. Long winters, hardly any heat. We can go up there for the summers, come back during winters so you don’t get sick. Lots ‘a wilderness, we could go camping. Never thought of myself as a country boy ‘fore, but this heat’s messing with my head. I could be Jersey boy for all I care right now.” Now that’s surprising.

“Jersey? Really?” Both boys are New Yorkers through and through; Jersey is the enemy. Bucky looks over, lips pursed and forehead all wrinkled.

“Alright, fine, I take it back. But Canada, yeah? We’ll like it.” Bucky’s eyes drift to the ceiling. Steve watches him for few seconds before nodding.

“Sure, Buck. Canada sounds swell. I could work on my French.” Even though this fantasizing is a little out of the blue, worrying Steve a bit, when Bucky’s head falls and he grins over at Steve, he would move to the arctic, lungs be damned, if Bucky asked him to.

 

*~*~*

 

It’s a nice night, no clouds in the sky, so every star shines brightly with the moon the centerpiece of the picture. A part of Steve itches to draw it, but he’s got something more important on his mind. He reaches the tent quickly, pulling back one flap and ducking under it. It’s still weird to be so tall in this body, even after months of having it. When he gets inside, Bucky’s there, lying on a cot, one arm tucked up underneath his head as he stares at the ceiling of the tent. The position bulges the muscles in his arm and Steve swallows hard. The serum fixed a lot of things, but it didn’t fix this, apparently.

“Hey Buck.” Steve says, trying for casual but knowing his expression gives him away. He’s a terrible liar, especially when it’s Bucky he’s lying to. When Bucky doesn’t respond, he crawls down on the cot next to him and sits up facing him. “What happened? I heard you refused to be looked over and you won’t tell anyone what went on in that isolation ward.”

“Italy, Stevie. We’ll come back.” Bucky says instead of answering. “Eat Italian food. Loads of it. Swim a lot too, heard there’s a nice island off the mainland, great for vacations. Warm, sun, good food. It’ll be perfect.”

“Bucky,” Steve says it more like a plea than a name. Please Bucky, please be serious right now.

“Maybe we’ll visit other places in Europe. Britain could be nice, see the palace. And Switzerland, I’ve heard they’ve got good chocolate. Remember chocolate? Oh, what I’d do for a chocolate bar. Yeah, Switzerland’s good.” He’s still looking at the ceiling, eyes a little glassy like he’s far away, and it scares Steve almost as much as when he pulled Bucky off that table.

“Bucky, please, you have to-” Steve cuts himself off when Bucky’s head drops to the side, looking him right in the eye. It’s then that Steve realizes Bucky’s eyes weren’t glassy because he was far away, but because they’re wet with tears.

“Tell me you’ll come with me, Stevie. Tell me, please.” Steve nods.

“Yeah, Bucky, anywhere you wanna go. I’m with you.” Bucky nods back, blinks away the wetness, and stares straight up at the ceiling once again. Instead of asking about the factory, Steve lies down on the cot next to Bucky and together they stare through the holes in the tent, thinking about if you could see the same stars in the places they want to go.

 

*~*~*

 

Each Howling Commando wrote letters before they joined. After what happened, being captured by Hydra, they wanted to make sure their families and friends had some kind of closure if, God forbid, it happened again. In his shaking hands, Steve holds the letter Bucky wrote to him. It’s got his name on it in Bucky’s perfect handwriting, neat but slanted with curvy lettering like the slow drawl of his Brooklyn accent. Right after the letter, words Steve smudged with tears, is a list.

Places We Would’ve Gone.

Each and every place lies neatly under the other, names underlined once and then a dash. After the dash Bucky wrote down why they would go to that place, reminding Steve of conversations from years and years ago.

_Buffalo, New York (state) \- To see Niagara Falls and the Great Lakes. _

_Paris, France \- Visit the Eiffel Tower and have you use up the rest of my patience staring at old art and statues. _

_San Francisco, California \- Get fresh air and culture, put a tan on that pale as hell skin of yours. _

_Grand Canyon, Arizona -You were half dead and told me we were gonna go here to get away from the cold. _

_Quebec, Canada \- You could work on your French and we could cool off, but only for the summers, since it was so damn hot in Brooklyn. _

_Italy (again) \- Food and swimming. _

_Britain \- See the palace. _

_Switzerland \- Chocolate, loads and loads of chocolate._

 

_Alright Stevie, I guess if you’re reading this it happened. The reason I wrote this down for you is ‘cause I don’t want you staying in Brooklyn forever just ‘cause I’m not there to go other places with you. Visit the places I said we were gonna go to. One of the best parts of the fantasy was seeing you there with me._

 

*~*~*

 

“So,” a voice says when Steve enters his apartment. It’s dark, but he can make out a figure standing in the middle of his living room. Having spent months upon months looking for the person standing right in front of him, Steve is both relieved and little irked. But then Bucky steps forward, into the light from the moon that’s coming through the window, and grins a ghost of the grin he used to give Steve so many years before. “Should we start with Buffalo?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it :) Comments and kudos are always appreciated.


End file.
